


Keeping Secrets

by zelda_zee



Category: Justified
Genre: Intoxication, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of the time, Raylan didn’t give a thought to the things he knew about Boyd Crowder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Secrets

Most of the time, Raylan didn’t give a thought to the things he knew about Boyd Crowder. There were a lot of things that he knew that, strictly speaking, he should not, given the nature of their current relationship – oppositional and at times flat-out antagonistic, not to mention murderous.

Be that as it may, in his most honest moments (which were invariably late at night, alone in his motel room, sunk well down into a bottle of Kentucky’s finest) Raylan could not deny that he and Boyd shared an uncomfortably comfortable brand of intimacy. It was the intimacy of men who knew each other too well and though Raylan _would_ deny it to anyone and everyone and most especially to Boyd Crowder himself, somehow he could not hide it from that old keeper of secrets, Jim Beam.

Raylan realized it wasn’t wise to dwell on those things he knew about Boyd, especially since it seemed that he and Boyd were destined for one more confrontation, probably sooner rather than later. ‘Course Raylan figured he’d be the one putting a bullet in Boyd’s twisted heart, but he wasn’t so naïve as to imagine that a sure thing was truly sure until the bullet found its mark.

But none of that mattered when the bottle was halfway gone and instead of thinking about killing Boyd, Raylan started thinking about how they keep saving each other’s asses instead and maybe, when the bottle was a good way _past_ halfway gone he’d admit it was more than a little one-sided with the saving of asses, and that it seemed like it was Boyd helping him out and feeding him tips and showing up just when he was about to get his head bashed in with a baseball bat and that Raylan hadn’t really done all that much to return the favor.

And then he’d start thinking on the other things he knew about Boyd Crowder, the deep, dark stuff that he’d buried so well when he’d left Harlan that he’d nearly managed to convince himself his hormone-fueled teenage imagination had dreamed it all up.

There wasn’t any point to remembering the feel of Boyd’s hands, rough with calluses but gentle when he touched, or the way his voice went raspy and breathless when Raylan touched him back, and how the sound of it always made goosebumps break out on Raylan’s skin. He could still hear Boyd whisper his name in that way he had when he was nearly there, soft but intense, like a prayer, a sinful devotion.

By the time he’d let himself open the door to the memory of what Boyd’s mouth felt like around his dick, he’d be well and truly in his cups, belt unbuckled, jeans unzipped, leaking over his fingers. Boyd Crowder at the age of nineteen had given the best head that Raylan had had in his entire life, and he had the breadth and depth of experience to know what he was talking about. It seemed unfair that the best head he’d had was also the first head he’d had, but there you have it. Boyd was a man of many talents; Raylan was willing to admit as much to any who’d listen. But that his mouth was the closest place to heaven that Raylan had found on this Earth – that was secret that he’d take with him to his grave.

_Fuck_ , he whispered, hating the booze that knocked down his barriers too easily, hating these stupid memories that could still make him feel like this, hating Boyd, hating his teenage self for ever doing the shit that his current self couldn’t forget, hating his current self for not forgetting anyway.

None of that self-loathing counted for shit though, because when he reached a certain point – the point he’d been aiming for all along without letting himself acknowledge it – he’d shut his eyes tight and close his ears to the sound of his breathing, loud in the quiet room, and fuck his fist while he thought about fucking Boyd’s mouth and how he’d liked it when Raylan did that, how he always pulled him in deeper and moaned like Raylan was giving him something sweet, and how he’d gaze up at Raylan with a look in his eyes like he _knew_ Raylan or something, like he _got_ him in a way nobody else did. It was always that – that look in Boyd’s eyes – that did Raylan in. He came hard when he indulged in these pointless fantasies, clenching his teeth so as not to make a sound, toes curling against the ratty bedspread. It felt good – better than good – but still, it was never enough.

Afterwards, the room spun a bit and he put his hand on the wall to try to make it stop, used his t-shirt to clean up enough so that it wouldn’t be too disgusting in the morning

He lay on the bed feeling pissed off and vaguely unsatisfied and thought about how much he hated Boyd Crowder and how when the time came, he’d put him down just like all the others and how maybe he’d drive down to Harlan tomorrow just to tell him so, just to see what Boyd would say to that.

_Don’t matter,_ he thought as the darkness of alcohol-fueled oblivion closed over him. _Time comes, I’ll put him down. I will_. And if there was a niggling doubt at the thought, he was out cold before he has to pay it any mind.


End file.
